Broken Bones Lead Me to You
by spaztronaut
Summary: After an unfortunate incident involving a slippery slide and a toddler's snow boot ends in a visit to the ER for Oliver Queen, he's pretty sure he might be having the worst day of his life. Until he meets an intriguing blonde with a broken hand, that is.


Sick people made a lot of noise.

As someone who'd never spent much time around the sick or injured, Oliver had never had occasion to notice it before, but sitting on an uncomfortable blue plastic chair in the Starling Memorial emergency room, all he could hear were the moanings and groanings off all the people around him.

A man in what was once probably a white hoodie, but was now covered in stains Oliver would rather not identify, stood at the check in desk, shouting at the nurse for asking him to fill out a form. An old lady in a wheelchair was breathing so heavily that, if they weren't already in a hospital, he'd probably consider calling 9-1-1. A kid less than five feet away was puking into a bucket, rather violently. A low chorus of coughing and complaints surrounded him on all sides, drowning out the low hum of Christmas music coming over the speakers, and it was only contributing to his headache.

Sliding doors opened on the far side of the room as a man and a woman entered from outside, a brisk wind sweeping in behind them. Oliver tugged his peacoat tighter around his shoulders and wondered when this hellish experience would end.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Queen. Nurse says it'll be another few minutes," his bodyguard said as he folded himself into the chair beside him, an apologetic smile crossing his face.

In all the years John Diggle had worked security for the Queen's, Oliver had never seen him look like that. He supposed that might be because this was the first time the man's toddler had ever broken one of his client's noses before. If he didn't think he might pass out from the pain, Oliver would have been tempted to laugh at the situation.

It all started with a text message. A message that wasn't even for him, in fact.

John had been hanging out in Oliver's office at Queen Consolidated when his phone dinged. It had been a slow day due to a mixture of snow and it being so close to Christmas, so Oliver hadn't been doing much more than deleting old emails for the past hour. When he looked up to catch John smiling adoringly at his phone he was immediately curious. John was married, but he was and his wife, Lyla, were far from the mushy type, so that only left one option. The text must be about their daughter, Sara. And if that were the case, then Oliver could honestly say that he didn't blame the man.

Sara Diggle was the cutest baby Oliver had ever seen. Which was why Oliver had stopped fiddling around with his email and got up to see what cute thing John's daughter was up to today. John had glanced up as Oliver approached, smirking and turning his phone to face him. The screen was filled with a video of Sara shuffling her feet through the light snow that had fallen that morning.

"Lyla took her to the park on Third. She was too little for snow last year." He turned the phone back so he could watch his daughter play in the snow for the first time, a dopey grin spreading across his face.

If it hadn't been a week before Christmas, if the office hadn't been so slow, maybe Oliver wouldn't have suggested what he suggested. Maybe he would have smiled at his friend and gone back to work. But it was and Oliver, willing to do anything to escape the endless boredom, made the suggestion that had ended him up in the emergency room less than an hour later.

" _Not much going on here today. Why don't we take a walk down and meet them?_ "

"Your kid kicks me in the face and you start calling me Mr. Queen?" Oliver joked, or tried to. He sounded so nasally he could barely recognize his own voice. "What title do I get if you accidentally shoot me?"

John shot him an unimpressed look out of the corner of his eye, but his shoulders loosened up a bit. "Oliver, man, I'm sorry."

"I think you've mentioned that once or twice."

He had actually mentioned it more like twenty-three times according to Oliver's count, but he was pretty sure he'd blacked out for a minute there so it could've likely been more.

It wasn't like it was John's fault anyway. It wasn't anyone's fault. Oliver had simply offered to help Sara climb up the slide. Even though Lyla had told her no because, you know, the stairs were covered in ice and snow and she'd slip. But if Oliver was helping then she couldn't possibly slip, right?

Oh, how little respect he'd had for Lyla's maternal instincts.

Halfway up the ladder, as soon as she was level with Oliver's face, her foot slipped off the slick metal step, jolting back to hit him square in the nose. Despite the pain, and probable blackout, Oliver managed to hold onto Sara long enough for her to pull herself the rest of the way up the ladder. As splashes of red blood stained the snow at his feet, all Oliver could hear were Sara's happy giggles as she flew down the slide into a pile of snow at the bottom.

John shook his head. "Your mother is going to kill me. Or worse, fire me."

"She's not going to fire you."

His mother, despite her overprotective streak, would never fire John over an accident. In fact, after a few days, she might even find the incident amusing. This news didn't seem to appease John much. His leg jumped restlessly, his fingers tapping against his knee as the minutes passed.

"I'm gonna see if I can get you some ice," he said, jumping up from his chair.

Oliver smiled as best he could, wanting to at least try to lessen the man's guilt. Even if just a little. He was pretty sure the wince that followed did the opposite.

Crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes, Oliver tried to block out the endless noise of the emergency room. He didn't open them again until he felt someone take the seat beside him. A glance to his left told him that it was definitely not John returning with his ice pack.

A young blonde woman in an ugly Hanukkah sweater—Oliver didn't even know they made those—sat down beside him, setting her purse on her lap. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a neat ponytail, and she looked intensely focused as she stared down at a clipboard.

Oliver watched her for a moment as she skimmed the questions on the form. He wasn't sure what was wrong with her at first. She wasn't groaning or wheezing or throwing up and she didn't look to be in any obvious pain. At least, until she tried to pick up the pen attached to the clipboard. Her face crumpled as she tried to wrap her hand around the pen and that's when he noticed her right thumb. It was swollen and an ugly shade of purple. It didn't take a medical degree to realize it was broken. She winced, switching the pen to her left hand as if she'd gone to pick it up with her right on instinct.

He tried not to stare, but it was difficult not to notice what a hard time she was having. Her handwriting looked like little more than chicken scratch, despite how many times she readjusted her pen.

"Excuse me," he said after a minute of watching her struggle, and she turned to him with wide blue eyes. He wasn't sure if it was out of surprise or because of the dried blood undoubtedly all over his face. "Do you need some help?"

"Oh!" The woman glanced down at the form before her eyes darted back to Oliver. "No. No, it's alright. Thank you, though."

Oliver braved a smile for her, and tried to keep his eyes to himself, but after a few more minutes of her struggling to fill out her address, he decided to try again. "Are you sure you don't need help? Because" —he flexed both hands in front of him— "it's just my nose that's broken."

She took one last look at her barely filled out form before sighing in defeat. "If you're sure you wouldn't mind?"

He grabbed the clipboard and pen, turning to face her. "What's your phone number?"

"What?" She glanced over at him, startled, before blinking. "Oh! Right." She laughed a little nervously, but quickly rattled off her number.

"And you're here because of a broken thumb, right?" She nodded and he filled out the information.

"What happened?"

She blinked then glanced down at the form. "It asks that?"

"No," he said, his lips turning up at the corners. "No, I was just asking because it looks pretty bad. It wants your insurance information."

"It was a video gaming accident," she said, digging through her bag in search of her insurance card. "Mario Kart."

If his face wasn't pounding he was pretty sure he would have been grinning at her. "How do you break your thumb playing Mario Kart?"

"You don't." She pushed her glasses up her nose using her good hand. "You break it punching the arm of the couch when you lose at Mario Kart."

He couldn't help himself. He snorted and immediately regretted it. "Ugh," he groaned, closing his eyes against the pain.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry," she said, but he waved her off, taking the insurance card from her and copying down her information. "So… Broken nose, right? How'd you manage that? Get into a fist fight or something?"

"Or something," he said, handing her card back to her. "Actually, I got kicked in the face. Any allergies?"

"You got kicked in the face?" she asked, eyes wide and completely ignoring his question. "Are you an MMA fighter or something? Because you look like you could definitely be an MMA fighter."

His lips quirked and he nearly snorted again at the way her eyes raked up and down his body. This girl was a hazard to his health.

"No. Believe it or not, my story might be even more embarrassing than yours."

"My story is not embarrassing," she argued, adjusting her purse in her lap. "The other guy totally cheated. I was well within my rights to be angry."

"Angry enough to break your own thumb," he teased.

"Shut up." Her face scrunched up adorably and she waved her good hand in his direction. "You still didn't tell me how you managed to get kicked in the face."

"And you didn't tell me if you have any allergies."

"Peanuts," she said with a huff, then pointedly narrowed her gaze until Oliver relented.

"I was helping my friend's toddler up a slide and her foot slipped on some snow." He gestured to his face, showcasing the damage such a simple little accident could cause. He knew his skin was sticky with blood, but he was pretty sure it had also started to bruise as he waited to be seen by a doctor. He wondered how bad it looked.

She laughed, her head tilting back just slightly, and Oliver had a fleeting thought about how gorgeous she was. He'd noticed she was pretty as soon as she'd sat down, but there was something about her smile. Something so carefree about her laugh, despite the pain she must currently be in. She seemed to radiate friendliness and warmth. She was beautiful.

"I'm Oliver, by the way."

She looked over at him, that smile still one her face. "Felicity."

He'd already known that since it was one of the few things she'd managed to scrawl on her paperwork.

Felicity Smoak.

She reached out with her left hand and he met her halfway, giving it an awkward shake. His skin buzzed where she touched him. Her gaze traveled to their hands, almost as if she felt it too, and then back to his face where it stayed until something behind Oliver caught her attention.

"Here, this should help with the swelling," John said, and Oliver reluctantly pulled his gaze away as his friend stopped beside him, holding out an ice pack.

"Thanks, man." Grabbing the ice pack, he looked over to see Felicity glancing curiously at the newcomer, and gestured to his friend. "Felicity, this is John Diggle. Father of the nose breaker."

"Oh." She smiled. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you," John replied, his smile genuine, if reserved. He'd been through this song and dance with Oliver plenty of times in the past. Oliver didn't blame the guy for thinking Felicity was just another girl out to snag Oliver Queen. He didn't get that vibe from her, though. In fact, he was pretty sure Felicity had no idea who he was.

Truth was, as much as Oliver had enjoyed the modicum of celebrity his family's wealth brought him, or the endless array of women and one night stands that came with it, he'd long since grown tired of it. But it had been difficult finding women in his social circle that didn't remember the spoiled womanizer he'd been in his youth. Even strangers knew the sordid details of his past thanks to the paparazzi and tabloids. Still, if ever there was a woman he wanted to take a chance with, he thought it might be Felicity Smoak.

He opened his mouth to ask for her number, not for the paperwork this time, when a nurse called out, "Mr. Queen?"

He looked over at the nurse glancing in his general direction and raised a hand.

"Right this way," she said, gesturing for him to follow her.

Oliver hesitated a moment, wondering if he should ask Felicity for her number now, or if that might scare her away. They'd only been talking for a few minutes and what he was feeling might be one-sided. Still… If he didn't take the chance now he might never see her again.

"Mr. Queen?" the nurse called again, her tone impatient, though she tried to hide it behind a polite smile.

Turning back quickly, he gently reached for Felicity's hand. She startled for a moment, until he took the ice pack John had given him and placed it on top of her busted thumb. Her good hand immediately shot out, covering his, and a spark of electricity shot up his arm, setting his skin buzzing once again.

"Keep this on there, okay?"

She nodded, eyes on their hands. When he pulled away to stand she glanced up at him, cheeks tinted pink and a small smile on her lips. "Thanks."

He wished he could return the smile the way he wanted to.

"He'll keep you company while I'm gone," Oliver said, nodding to John who was already sliding into his now abandoned seat.

John shot her a wink, causing her to grin.

"Mr. Queen." This time the nurse didn't hide her impatience and Oliver reluctantly turned to follow her into the emergency room.

###

The wait in the ER turned out to take longer than the actual visit with the doctor. It only took about twenty minutes to straighten out his nose and pack it with gauze. Soon enough he was making his way back out to the waiting room in search of John.

He wasn't necessarily hoping Felicity would still be there, but… Yeah, who was he kidding? He was totally hoping she was still there. So when he saw her, sitting in the same plastic chair he'd left her in, he made a beeline right for her.

"Still here?"

Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice and a smile stretched across her face when she saw him. "Yeah. Probably won't be much longer."

The ice pack he'd given her was still draped across her busted thumb, and it made Oliver smile. Not that he could manage much of one. The anesthetic spray the doctor used had dulled some of the pain, but the packing made it hard to move his face at all. Something Felicity took notice of almost immediately.

Her smile quirked up on one side, turning amused, as she looked up at him. "Boy, I'm glad I only broke my hand."

With a tilt of his head, Oliver silently told her what he thought of her jokes before glancing around. "Where's John? Were you mean to him, too?"

She laughed. "He went to make a phone call. I think he's right out front."

Oliver nodded, biting his lip. He knew he should go now. This was the natural end of their acquaintance, and he should say goodbye and go find John. This… _lingering_ he was doing probably wasn't doing him any favors with her.

"I hope your hand feels better," he said, after a moment.

"I hope your nose feels better. I mean, you know, heals quickly. Wouldn't want the paparazzi plastering pictures of you with a bandaged nose all over the tabloids."

His head snapped back in surprise. "You know who I am?"

"Well, there aren't many Queen's in Starling City and you are kind of famous. If your face wasn't all messed up I probably would have recognized you immediately." She slammed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "Not that your face is messed up. You're still very attractive. Like, really, really attractive. I just didn't recognize you because of all the bruising and swelling and blood and I'm going to stop talking in three… two…"

"Felicity." Oliver smiled at her, the uncomfortable stuffed feeling in his nose be damned. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

Her blue eyes widened in surprise for a moment before she covered it up with that same amused smile from before. "I bet you ask out all the girls you end up in the ER with."

"No," he said, shaking his head, his tone as serious as he could get it while still sounding like a manly Fran Drescher. "Just the ones that get so mad over losing at a video game that they break their own thumbs."

The grin she shot him and the way it made his stomach flip made him certain of his decision.

"Okay," she said, her ponytail bobbing slightly with her nod. She bit her lip, and he got the impression that she was as willing to take a chance on him as he was on her.

He nodded back. "Okay."

"But…" She appraised him, tilting her head thoughtfully to the side. "Maybe we should wait until your nose is healed a little."

Oliver's brows furrowed, and he wondered if he looked even worse than he thought he did. Was she embarrassed to be seen in public with him?

"It's just…" She raised her broken hand. "With my busted hand and your busted nose, people might think I punched you."

He laughed, and this time the pain killers didn't help as much as he would have liked, but it was worth it. "Let them think what they want. I've had kind of a sucky day and dinner with you might just turn it around."

She smiled again, opening her mouth to reply when a nurse called her name. She closed her eyes, shaking her head, but Oliver moved over to take a seat in his previously vacated chair.

"Go on," he said. "I'll wait."

For a moment she looked like he'd knocked the wind out of her with the suggestion, but then she reached out and squeezed his hand with her good one. Then she followed the nurse off, turning back once to meet his gaze, before walking through the doors and out of sight.

Oliver leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes against the dull throbbing of his head, and listened to the sounds of the ER. Somehow, knowing that he had dinner with Felicity to look forward to made even the incessant sound of coughing echoing through the room that much less awful. And, as the soft strings of Christmas music cut through the white noise of the ER, Oliver made a mental note to get Sara Diggle a really nice present this year.


End file.
